Calm Ice
by loneserpent
Summary: Even the Dark Lord has to entertain himself somehow. She is his favourite way to do so. NOT a Romance/don't romanticize. Rated M for minor description of torture/abuse/sex/language


He liked to torture the weak ones. Because they were especially pathetic and he liked to put them in their place.

At age fifteen he'd wipe their memories with not even a crease on his forehead, leaving no trace of the fun he'd had behind. But soon the weak minded and bodied weren't enough for him. He just got _bored_ so easily.

He'd get himself a couple of Gryffindor's, the ones of the brave sort. But they didn't entertain him for long either. At a certain point, which often came way too soon for his liking, they'd give him everything they had just to make him stop.

So _average_.

So _boring_.

There were exceptions of course. She was one of them.

A dirty half-blood, sorted into _his_ house.

Mind, just above average.

Body, just above average.

In the beginning he hadn't expected much from her. She, like any other girl, had followed him way too quickly, in hopes of being allowed to moan his name soon after. Once he'd had her in the room of requirements, there hadn't been much she could have done to protect herself. He'd had his routine down to the very second.

He'd thoroughly enjoyed watching her face go from lustful anticipation to cold dread. He really had looked forward to hearing her scream. She'd tried to struggle, but with a lazy swipe of his wand, her hands had been glued to her sides, ankles tied together by invisible robes. She hadn't even dared looking up into his eyes anymore. Those ones were his favorite.

He'd opened his palms in front of her face, forcing her to look at it. In it had appeared a sharp, shiny blade. The room of requirements had often helped him very generously in his ways of torture.

With satisfaction, he'd watched her turn a little green, veins pumping faster, eyes zapping around more frantic.

Internally he'd growled in satisfaction.

Externally on the other hand, he'd sneered and spoke, mustering all the hate he'd accumulated since the last time he'd done this.

"Well, Miss White, we certainly agree that worthless scum like you shouldn't be allowed to roam this castle, let alone the great House of Slytherin, don't we? With their dirty heads held high, it's an abomination."

He'd paused and sneered again when he'd seen her cringe, eyes fixated on the ground.

"I promise you though, that I will do my best to help you learn your lesson, no matter how long it takes." Internally, he'd patted himself on the back for being so generous. Technically he could had easily killed her as well. But it had pleased him to prove to lesser souls what their worth was. Even if they did forget after.

"Let's try cleansing your dirty blood a little, shall we?"

He watched the first tear fall from her cheek with blank eyes. He had never understood tears. All they did was show weakness.

Her eyes flickered up to the knife, which was still dangling in front of her face.

"What are you going to do to me?" her voice had broken when she spoke, yet she'd sounded calm. Too calm, for his liking. He'd felt the hot blaze of fire flicking against his chest, furiousness spreading through his body. He'd lunged forward, like a snake getting ready to attack.

"Shut your mouth. When I tell you to shut up, you shut up. When I tell you to talk, you talk. When I tell you to scream, you scream. And _only_ when I tell you to." He'd bit out through is teeth, inches away from her face.

The blade, that'd been positioned in front if her, now sat by her pulse point. He'd started tracing the tip down her throat, and down her left shoulder.

"Let's see the mud you have flowing through your veins." he'd nearly whispered. When he'd reached the base of her hand he'd stopped.

"Now, scream." He'd ordered just as he'd pushed the knife inside her arm and pulled upwards.

A wave of fresh, red blood had started gushing out of her arm, the tangy smell filling the room. Yet no sound of delicious screaming had reached his ear. Why wasn't this bitch screaming?

He'd grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up. Her eyes had been filled with tears, but her mouth had been shut tight. He'd dove into her mind, expecting to find a reason for her foolish behavior, but instead – had found a wall.

He couldn't enter her mind? _He_ couldn't enter _her_ mind?!

He'd kept pushing until she was on the floor, but he still hadn't been able to get past her shield.

"Open" he'd bellowed at her, but she hadn't budged.

With a quick swing he'd closed the gash on her arm, and had now started firing curse after curse, each and everyone he could think of at her.

"I thought I told you to scream, you little whore" the flames in his chest had been so hot, his mind so angry, his vision had seemed to start becoming red.

He'd taken a minute to breathe and stop himself from killing her. At the sudden absence of pain, she'd seemed to go limp, slowly rocking herself to stop from crying out loud.

He had certainly not been satisfied, though.

From then on he'd made it his purpose to hear her scream. She'd wake up in the middle of the night, wondering why she felt so weak, without even realizing she couldn't remember where she'd been hours before.

By the time he was sixteen, she'd become his favourite victim. He'd changed the memory spell so that she'd remember everything as soon as the two of them were in a closed room together. With all her memories coming back as soon as the door of the room of requirements closed, he'd expected her to obey, yet she hadn't, not once.

He'd find himself, sitting next to her unconscious body, wondering when she'd break. He had to hear her scream at least once.

He'd watch her body, clothes clinging to her frame, wet and red, and at some point other thoughts added into his anger. Urges. He'd found the urges unsettling, annoying even. But they only got stronger, the more he'd try to push them down.

Thing was, she'd started noticing. Which had only made her punishment that much worse.

One day, while he was healing a bad cut on her lower abdomen, she'd looked up. For the first time, they'd looked eyes without him trying to penetrate her mind.

And for the first time, he'd realized, her eyes were the colour of blue ice. They were actually kind of beautify... He'd nearly thrown up then and there for starting that thought. He hadn't understood the look in her eyes though. He'd started moving closer towards her, eyes narrowing, like the predator he was. This look of his, had scared every single one of his victims to the point of peeing their pants and screaming for their mummy. But once again, his weird girl had seemed calm, too calm.

"What" he'd hissed, an inch from her face, involuntarily glancing at her lips.

Before he'd had the chance to put on a sneer, these very lips landed on his. His entire body had frozen for a millisecond, before he pushed her off and slapped her hard across the face. Not even two moments later he'd grabbed her face and started kissing her, furiously and demanding. The animal inside him had broken loose. She'd tasted like blood and victory.

The first time they were together was the first time he'd heard her scream. And up to this day, he'd never heard a more beautiful, twisted scream.

He started letting her keep bits of memories, so she'd come back more easily, and just like that a new routine was born. He'd torture, cut and burn, and when he got frustrated with keeping her off the very quiet edge of death, he'd take her, again and again. He wasn't loving, and he wasn't kind, but she kept coming back.

The mixture of frustration and want for the girls body nearly made him angrier with her. He'd be harder on her when he'd seen her look at boys, and twice as hard when he'd seen boys look at her.

She was his property, no one else's.

He was rejoiced in the control he had over her in bed, and didn't question her stubbornness anymore. He'd won, he'd made her compliant, and for the moment that was enough.

Once, he wondered, if the glee, he felt when thinking of his victory over her, was love. Given, he'd never had a conversation with the girl, didn't know a thing about her, but just _had _to see her, torture her, fuck her. And after all, he didn't know what love was. He branded the thought foolish and quickly banished it from his mind.

He didn't see her for two years after he left school, and honestly hadn't thought about her much either, until he heard some costumers talking about the Diggory-White conjugal union.

He stood there, in the back of her wedding and watched them give their vows, flames licking in his chest.

After the party he followed them to their suite, unseen.

He raised his wand at the startled young man, the room was dipped in green and the startled man was dead, and vanished, with a wave of his wand. He moved over to her, taking long strides, and grabbed her forcefully by the neck.

"You. Are. Mine. Anyone who claims otherwise has to face the consequences. Understood?" he stated with a blank face.

Her face had fear written all over it, but all too soon she'd calmed it down, way too calm.

It made him furious.

She made him furious.

He ripped off her dress and threw her on the bed.

"I do have a wedding gift for you, though." He said in a cold laugh just before he left. He waved his wand and a little package appeared in her lap. Out came the head of a small, new born snake that quickly wound itself around her fingers. "Care for her. She'll leave you when it is time."

He found her, years later, when she was going on 70, in a deserted cottage by the sea. It took her a while to put two and two together, but when she realized who was stood before her she just shook her head knowingly.

"Nagini."

It wasn't a question, more a statement.

"You have raised her well." The cold, high hiss that came out of his mouth didn't remind her one bit of the voice she used to know. Pale, long fingers raised a wand towards her head.

"Wait." She spoke, before he could fulfill the reason for his visit. "you have a son."

"Lies!" he screamed at her, full force.

"Listen! A son! A daughter in law. Two grandchildren. Let them live." She pleaded, yet she didn't seem defiant, just scared.

He'd only been before her for a minute and she already made his blood boil again. He harshly waved his wand and went on to find this son of hers.

It couldn't have been his.

He found himself in front of a dining table, seating four people. The table was heavily loaded with food of all kinds, red and gold lights were hung up on a tree in the corner. The oldest man must have been around 50, as was the woman. She immediately started to panic, cry and scream, and even though he could see fear in their eyes, the other three just looked at him, calmly. Too calm. With eyes, the colour of ice, and the shape of – his. Well how they used to be anyway.

He murdered them, one after the other, the annoying woman first.

After he was done, he inspected the bodies. It was unnerving, but undeniable – the three others simply looked like him, before he had changed. He felt sick to his stomach, not about having killed them obviously, but about their mere existence.

He stood up, neatly closed the door, and vanished the 'Riddle-Cottage', the dead family, and every proof they ever existed.

* * *

Hey guys,

this was a quick drabble I did a couple months ago on the train, let me know what you think of it!

Reviews make me happy!

Oh and also, please apologize any spelling/grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language, but let me know if you find any, and I'll correct them :)

x


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